Tree of Life

I spent most of my childhood planting shallow roots.

My father was in the Army. We moved from time to time. We settled in West Texas....a dusty border town called El Paso. Fort Bliss to be exact.



When I was 21, my parents empty nested. That is the last time I lived in the same town as either of my parents. They moved to Hawaii for my dad's final station, and I stayed in El Paso to learn and live life on my own.


I planted deep roots in El Paso. Lots of firsts: boyfriend, job, marriage #1, checking account, credit card. Good friends, lifelong memories all sprinkled with the border culture. My tree is part Mexican (explains my love of tortillas con manzanilla y chile).

In the mid-90's, Dad retired. He and Mom planted their roots in West Central Texas. A town called San Angelo. Dad grew up there and died there. Mom stayed there after he passed away, but has original roots in Oklahoma and California. In (as we call it in Texan) Angelo, she sprouted a new life. I was not at all surprised to see her stay in Angelo even though my brother has his family in Georgia, and I have mine here in The Big Bad City.

With her amazing green thumb, she parted the dry desert-like Earth. She provided loving nourishment resulting in her new roots strengthening. Lo and behold, a tree was born with a mighty trunk of fortitude.

Mom's widowed life evolved into bowling on five leagues, frequenting a lil bar in town, and watching a heckuvalotta TV. She got a dog affectionately named Wild Z. Chihuahua. ("Z" for short.) I never worried about her surviving after my dad died. I imagined two scenarios. One: Mom would have to leave because she is no longer able to care for herself, and the practical reason to move would be for medical necessity (and she'd leave kicking and screaming the whole way!), or two: she'd die out there on that little slice of God's Earth to which she tenderly attends.

Ten years ago, I stretched my own roots from far West Texas to Northeast Texas, specifically the Dallas area. Corporate job, new friends, marriage #2 (there aren't any more of those to report. hahaha), two new saplings (kiddos), a mortgage, yadda yadda yadda. I feel solidly planted here, but admit to feeling very much like a leaf in the wind, fluttering in the wind and breezes, trusting it will take me on adventures.

Today, a new adventure.
Today, a new tree being planted....or rather, roots aspread.
Today, change.
Today, a new life for me.
Today, a new life for Mom.
Our family tree continues to be sinuously writhing through Texas.

Mom has made the decision to move to The Big Bad City. We've spent the last week getting her an apartment. It's just up the street from me. My husband and kids drove four or so hours last night to Angelo, spent all day today packing and loading a UHAUL, then drove back to Dallas. Drove Mom HOME. It was about a six hour trip. UHAUL, Mom's packed car, and my packed minivan convoying HOME. Together. All. Of. Us.

Tomorrow, we unload the big orange truck. And it will be done. The Tree of Life lives on.

Everyone in my house is sleeping right now and I'm enjoying the quiet. I'm soaking in all of the goings-on, and trying to digest the events. Truthfully, it's overwhelming.

Y'know, this is a *big* move for Mom. I can't describe the magnitude. For a 68 year old fiercely independent woman, this is a concession almost. I wonder if she feels as if it's a surrender? I wonder if she feels defeated by aging? I wonder if she thinks about this the same way I do?

It's a big move for me, too. I have not been particularly close to Mom most of my life -- geographically or emotionally. I don't have that deep friendship with her that so many mothers and daughters have, although as she and I have both aged, we have fewer defenses and more commonalities. I'm trying to keep the "no expectations" rule in place, but I admit to feeling very nervous and worried. I worry that we'll have to endure a "boundaries" growing pain.

Metaphorically, trees symbolize strength, longevity and life-giving. They rarely know boundaries. Or do they? City trees do. Mom is now a city tree.

I am more hope-filled than fear-filled. My hope is that our roots are intertwined in harmony so that our family tree is always giving life to others around us, recieving life from those same others, and mostly creating longevity, strength, and a shady picnic spot accompanied by musical wind-played leaves to those who need it.

Photo credit: me. Taken on my wine-tasting trip to NY and PA on September 7, 2007.